Protection
by LadyWallace
Summary: There's a difference between being immortal and being invincible. Crowley finds this out the hard way. But he has an angel to watch over him. (Gen)


**A little drabble in answer to the request I got from one Guest Reviewer on my story "La Grippe" I hope you see this and enjoy this slightly OOC Crowley & Aziraphale friendship fluff ^_^**

Protection

A Good Omens Fanfic

_There's a difference between being immortal and being invincible. Crowley finds this out the hard way. But he has an angel to watch over him. (Gen)_

Sometimes, bravery was vastly overrated.

This was Crowley's first thought as he shoved the woman and her daughter out of the way before the building collapsed with a huge explosion of sound, and took Crowley with it.

He wasn't even really sure what had happened at first, there was just sudden blackness, but the instant he began to come to was when he realized he was trapped, pinned beneath the rubble.

He tried to move, but the weight crushing his chest was making that impossible, not to mention that his arms and legs were also trapped.

"H-help," he croaked, in a pitifully weak voice, a cough bursting from his throat, which he instantly wished hadn't happened as the action caused unbelievable pain to lance through his chest.

"Crowley? Crowley, where are you?"

The familiar voice gave him a renewed burst of strength, and he tried to raise his voice. "'Z-'Zira?" _Cough_ "O…over…here."

Even those few words were still more effort than he could truly manage at that moment, but thankfully the angel seemed to hear him because pounding footsteps sounded, crashing through the rubble.

"Oh, my dear boy," Aziraphale gasped as he caught sight of him, falling to his knees next to his head. "Just hold on a moment and I'll have you out of here."

"H-hurry," Crowley wheezed, cringing as every moment made the rubble feel like it was pressing him more and more firmly into the ground.

Aziraphale began to move as much of the rubble as he could, seeming to be using his angelic strength to toss it aside with abandon, heedless of his soft hands and clothing. Though his normally immaculate outfit was already covered in filth and sported several tears from the building's collapse. Crowley suddenly thought wryly that it could be a miracle the angel hadn't been caught as well.

But finally, Aziraphale reached him and lifted the final piece of debris from across his chest and Crowley took a deep breath.

And choked on blood.

He coughed, and blood spattered his lips as he brought his hands up shakily to clutch at his chest, pain ripping through him.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale was kneeling beside him, one hand resting behind his neck, the other hovering over his chest. "Oh, good Heavens. My dear, you seem to be hurt quite badly."

Crowley wanted to snap at the angel for pointing out the obvious, but couldn't. And really, if he were being honest, sometimes he forgot that being immortal and being able to be injured or killed were not the same thing. Perhaps on occasion he was a little too reckless, and this time he paid for it.

"We must get you home, looked after," Aziraphale said and ever so gently moved with the intention of getting Crowley upright, perhaps back to his car.

Crowley didn't get past a sitting position without his damaged lungs protesting. His chest burned with agony that brought whiteness to his vision, and he reached out and grabbed Aziraphale's coat, giving a strangled cry as he felt more blood bubbling up in his throat.

"Please…" he tried, fighting back the painful urge to cough.

"It's all right," Aziraphale murmured gently, as he carefully slipped his arms under Crowley. "I've got you, dear boy. Be easy."

Crowley gave another strangled sound that he refused to admit was a sob as Aziraphale lifted him up and carried him toward where they had left the Bentley.

It was one of the most agonizing experiences Crowley had ever gone through. How was it that a few broken ribs from a building falling on him was causing him so much distress? It was almost embarrassing. He would heal completely in a couple days, after all, there was really no need for all this distress.

And yet…until that time, he knew he was looking at a painful recovery.

Even the drive back to the bookshop was Hellish. Though Aziraphale was extremely careful with his driving—Crowley had never been so grateful for the angel's caution as he was at that moment.

It was the angel transferring Crowley to the couch in the back of the shop that finally did him in though. It seemed like that last movement was what officially made Crowley's ribcage protest completely.

He felt something shift the instant Aziraphale moved to set him on the sofa, and the pain rocketed to the point where he couldn't breathe, and he could feel the blood in the back of his throat as he gasped for breath.

In his suffering, he was only aware after quite a few long moments that Aziraphale was crouching in front of him, holding his arms to keep him steady as he choked up blood and gasped for breath with a rattle in his lungs. He reached out and grabbed a handful of Aziraphale's coat with his shaking hand, unable to say anything, but needing an anchor.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said softly, pain obvious in his eyes as he watched his friend suffering. "I do believe you have a punctured lung from those broken ribs."

Crowley wheezed again, and coughed up some more blood. Aziraphale pulled out a handkerchief and carefully wiped his lips.

"Easy now, I think it's best to keep you upright…oh, pillows, we need pillows."

But Crowley didn't release his hold on the angel as Aziraphale started to look around. He wasn't sure why he couldn't seem to let go. (Well, except for the fact that, 1. He thought that if he did he would simply fall on the floor and, 2. He didn't really want the angel to leave him, even for a second, but that one, of course, was never something he would admit to.)

Aziraphale, thankfully, seemed to realize both of these things without Crowley having to say anything and his worried expression softened to one of gentle care. He patted Crowley's hand instead.

"Don't worry, dear, I'm not going anywhere. Now, just a moment, while I get everything situated…"

And to Crowley's surprise, within the course of a minute, Aziraphale had moved to the couch, and positioned Crowley upright, resting with his back against the angel's chest as Aziraphale kept him propped upright. The position, Crowley noticed, helped ease a little of his breathing, and also reduced the pain slightly.

After a few minutes when he got his breath back without coughing blood, he murmured a quiet, "Thanks, angel."

Aziraphale ran a hand over his shoulder comfortingly. "Of course, dear."

"Be…be fine in…day or two," Crowley managed before he felt the urge to cough threaten again and stopped, pressing his lips together tightly as he rode it out.

"Shh," Aziraphale said, cradling him gently as he pulled his knees up to keep Crowley corralled between them as if to make sure he didn't slide either way. "Of course you'll be fine. Now why don't you just sit here and rest until you start to heal. I'll be right here."

And with those comforting words, Crowley couldn't think of anything he wanted to do more. He leaned his head back against Aziraphale's shoulder, face nuzzled into the hollow of his throat as he allowed his eyes to close as his friend held him gently, never doing anything to cause him more pain.

He was asleep before he knew it.

When he woke next, there was a twinge in his chest and side, but nothing like the spear of agony that had terrorized him before. He breathed experimentally and felt a small ache for his efforts, but he _could_ breathe and there was no blood involved so he took that as a good sigh.

And he was still cocooned protectively in Aziraphale's arms, which made all the difference.

"How are you feeling, my dear?" the angel asked, sensing Crowley was awake.

"Mm," Crowley murmured. "Better."

Aziraphale shifted slightly, and Crowley felt some regret at that movement, not wanting to relinquish his comfortable position of safety just yet. "I'm glad to hear it."

He turned slightly to rest more comfortably in Aziraphale's protective embrace, closing his eyes again. "Still tired, though."

The angel huffed a fond laugh, and patted his shoulder, relaxing again. As Crowley had suspected, he was perfectly fine with this position, he just hadn't been sure _Crowley_ was. Well, turned out Crowley was perfectly okay and too tired to care about the weakness he was showing.

"Very well, then," Aziraphale said softly. "You had best get some more rest."

And Crowley planned to do just that, knowing he was safe under the protection of his best friend.


End file.
